This is my last painting of 2017. This year has been a year of my obsession for dark colors. Here I have used a little of black but a lot of brown, red and mauve. Who could have thought mauve clouds can reflect a dreamier european sky. You can see various stages of painting in the slideshow. The layers of brick red and mauve sky, white unruly clouds, the not-so-precise Eiffel tower, some more clouds now somewhat colorful and more unruly making the Eiffel tower seems at a far distance, the girl in red inspired by Audrey Hepburn, shades of red in her dress and the mauve flower at the back of her dress, it all ends up creating a wonderful piece. Owing to my determination of stop being a control freak, for the first time I drew the girl only with the paint, no pencil and no trace paper. It came out just imperfect to look real. Her locks coming out of the bun from here and there, her flowing purple hair ribbon and the randomly placed clouds are giving the frame a windy look. The streaks of black and red in her dress might make this piece qualified for a Monroe moment in an imaginative and exaggerating way.
Words that couldn’t be said caused the greatest misery. – Anonymous
It was his last few days on that desk. Almost everything was as usual. A half filled lukewarm cup of black coffee, a small heap of papers scattered untidily, a blue pencil that he borrowed from someone and then forgot from whom and a mug cum pen stand with some pictures on it. In the far corridor few familiar faces rushing to the cafeteria, guess it was almost lunch time. But he wasn’t feeling hungry at all, blankly staring into that colorful screen of his. Last two years were flashing in front of his eyes. Presentations that ran till late, meetings which made him skip his planned breakfast and lunch, hiding into corners when he tried to be funny and no one in that room got that, proposals that he nailed, it was all there in that 40×45 ft room with wooden partitions here and there. He started it all with the other two, they were inseparable and it turned out great for their little venture. They saw ups and downs together. They had disagreements, big ones but they made it through. They fought over ideas sometimes for weeks and months. They did all-nighters and some of them were not at all fun. They lived on crumbs sometimes literally. They put a part of themselves in it, together. But they were just about to make it through and a grand one. But he couldn’t be a part of this. He just couldn’t. Only if he could tell them why he is leaving. Only if he could make it easier for them.
Old yellow houses and their broken window pane
in a sync on both sides of a pale narrow lane
Red flower pots with petunia and begonia spiraling down
a smell of fresh coffee and burning tinge of cinnamon
The lady in black rushing as if to catch a train
breaking the silence in my head those little drops of rain
A girl in brown boots and a guy with shiny brown cane
her fingers fidgeting with his iffy hands on that old bench
As if words are being exchanged in morse code
aloof from the rain, the mud and the ugly toad
As if the storm of thoughts are rushing through them
his eyes staring into hers decoding the silence of mayhem
Oblivious to bespattered with mud thrown by that rusty car
Her fist now resting calmly in his still iffy palms saying au revoir.
Franz Kafka, the story goes, encountered a little girl in the park where he went walking daily. She was crying. She had lost her doll and was desolate.
Kafka offered to help her look for the doll and arranged to meet her the next day at the same spot. Unable to find the doll he composed a letter from the doll and read it to her when they met.
“Please do not mourn me, I have gone on a trip to see the world. I will write you of my adventures.” This was the beginning of many letters. When he and the little girl met he read her from these carefully composed letters the imagined adventures of the beloved doll. The little girl was comforted.
When the meetings came to an end Kafka presented her with a doll. She obviously looked different from the original doll. An attached letter explained: “my travels have changed me… “
Many years later, the now grown girl found a letter stuffed into an unnoticed crevice in the cherished replacement doll. In summary it said: “every thing that you love, you will eventually lose, but in the end, love will return in a different form.”
A short love story of Silvia and Matthew, hailing from completely different social background and brought together by their affection for music. Two lovers vowed to spend their life together only to fall apart in pieces.
This is the second book I have read that is written by Erich Segal. Love Story was brilliant in its portrayal of evident and non-evident emotions. Only Love, throughout its length was also impeccable, the everlasting bond between Matthew and Evie and the magnetism between Matthew and Silvia. A heartbreaking story of a love lost and a love found. But when it comes to end, how he (Matthew) can say that I have always loved you, Evie. We, as human, always keep parts of them whom we loved once. One can be free and moved on. And in order to do so, we forgive them and ourselves, keep the good memories with ourselves and not put blame on the other one. Whatever the reason Silvia had for her disappearance from his life whether it was sense of responsibility or fear for survival, it cannot change the fact what she and Matthew had once was beautiful and it was Love.
You know your life has changed when you no longer crave for a birthday cake nor you need a birthday bash. Just few close friends and family will do the trick.
This year on September 27th I turned umm…. let’s say plus one than how much older I was on my last birthday. 😛 😀 This was different in many ways. My younger brother came to visit me. I have not been home in around eight long months. This is the longest I have been away from my home. I was missing home and he was also missing me, well not exactly me but our fights :D. I do not remember when I was with him last on my birthday. It cannot be any less than a decade. So I could not ask for more and happily cancelled all of my plans. I took one day leave and we went for shirdi darshan on 26th. He wanted me to have divine blessings. Although I am not a believer, I prefer to respect other’s belief. We visited the famous Shirdi and the Shani Shingnapur. Later one is well known for God Shani’s temple and holds a place in The Guinness book of World Records.
We came back to Mumbai around 11:15 in the might. I am not a big fan of cake, neither is my brother. At midnight, I blew one candle and cut a walnut pie instead of innumerable candles which I would have added to the unused stock of things in my drawer and a creamy cake. I have recently moved to Mumbai, so very few people had my contact number, so I only got few calls to wish happy birthday. The important ones came obviously. And the best part, my parents called at 12 am. On every birthday they used to call me in the morning ritualistically. And I felt happy, differently happy. Bhai was too tired so he slept off. And I ended up doing google hangout with my friends for 2 hours. Hangout has really been a blessing for long distance friend gangs.
The morning was pretty normal. Sleeping till almost noon, weekly chores and of course gifts :D. Gifts are definitely the best part of birthday 😉 . And you know what I got a Barbie as present. I do not know why but I never had a Barbie while growing up, nor did I ever ask for it. Someone has truly said that a girl can never be too old to play with Barbie. At the same time I felt like two persons, a grown up and a kid is embodied in me. At one front I am rising over the fanciness of the birthday celebration. And at the other side I still crave for little joys. Probably the ambivalence of this feel is the real beauty of being a grown-up.